The Adventures of Jimmie Dale eBook

And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room—­and
at the door Jimmie Dale joined him and led him down
the short flight of stairs. At the bottom, he
opened the door leading into the rear of the pawnshop
itself, and, bidding Burton follow, entered.

“We can’t risk even a match; it could
be seen from the street,” he said brusquely,
as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness.
“Ah—­here it is!” He lifted
a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.

There was a moment’s wait. Burton’s
hand was still nervously clutching at Jimmie Dale’s
sleeve. Then:

“Mr. Maddon?” asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
“Yes? . . . I am very sorry to trouble
you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware
that your rubies, and among them your Aracon, had
been stolen? . . . I beg pardon! . . . Rubies—­yes.
. . . You weren’t. . . . Oh, no, I
am quite in my right mind; if you will take the trouble
to open your safe you will find they are gone—­shall
I hold the line while you investigate? . . .
What? . . . Don’t shout, please—­and
stand a little farther away from the mouthpiece.”
Jimmie Dale’s tone was one of insolent composure
now. “There is really no use in getting
excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . . Certainly,
this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?”
Jimmie Dale’s voice grew plaintive, “I
really can’t make out a word when you yell like
that. . . . Yes. . . . I had occasion to
use them this afternoon, and I took the liberty of
borrowing them temporarily—­are you still
there, Mr. Maddon? . . . Oh, quite so! Yes,
I hear you now. . . . No, that is all, only
I am returning them through your private secretary,
a very estimable young man, though I fear somewhat
excitable and shaky, who is on his way to you with
them now. . . . What’sthatyousay? You repeat that,” snapped Jimmie
Dale suddenly, icily, “and I’ll take them
from under your nose again before morning! . . .
Ah! That is better! Good-night—­Mr.
Maddon.”

Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton
toward the door.

“Now then, Burton, we’ll get out of her—­and
the sooner you reach Fifth Avenue and Mr. Maddon’s
house the better. No; not that way!” They
had reached the hall, and Burton had turned toward
the side door that opened on the alleyway. “Whoever
they were who settled their last account with Isaac
may still be watching. They’ve nothing against
any one else, but they know some one was in here at
the time, and, if the police are clever enough ever
to get on their track, they might find it very convenient
to be able to say who was in the room when Isaac
was murdered—­there’s nothing to show,